


Faraway Shores - Female MC

by bly_kenton, Blythe Kennington (bly_kenton)



Category: Distant Shores (Visual Novel)
Genre: 18th Century, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, F/M, Golden Age of Piracy, POV Multiple, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:35:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27697715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bly_kenton/pseuds/bly_kenton, https://archiveofourown.org/users/bly_kenton/pseuds/Blythe%20Kennington
Summary: This fanfic is made to flesh out the love interest named Oliver from Distant Shores, both his character and romance arc. I have drawn inspiration from the original, but have altered the story in his favour. The story starts at Oliver's introduction in Tiburón.I write a female and a male version of this fic. The stories have different pronouns and some changes in dialogue and actions.
Relationships: Oliver Cochrane/Main Character (Distant Shores)
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

“Henry, would it be alright if I took off?” Peyton asks.

He mumbles something unintelligible in return. Unsure if he was paying any attention, she bids him goodbye and takes a stroll down the street.

She seeks shadow under an awning belonging to a small bakery, perusing through the window, inside lies treats and specialties displayed.

The smell of sugar, cinnamon and roasted nuts spills out onto the street causing an audible growl from Peyton’s stomach. Mindlessly, she enters and is met by a young woman with a smile as sweet as the pastries she just took out of the oven.

Peyton examines every option before settling on some almond cookies, and returns outside to find a spot to sit down perfect for watching his/her surroundings.

Not far away there’s a clunking sound, wood against wood. She brushes off the crumbs before going to investigate, it draws nearer as she reaches Grace’s shop.

Just outside Hugh is sparring with a barrel, too focused on his imaginary sword fight to acknowledge Peyton’s presence. 

“What did that barrel ever do to you, Hugh?” 

“I am dread Captain Mortemer!” He is furiously jabbing it with a cane, a loose curl falls down his face bouncing along with the movements.

Peyton promised him a rematch after their last fight and has time to spare. “Have you got one for me?”

He nearly trips as he scuttles inside to find a battered cane. It has seen better days, those days were definitely before meeting Hugh. 

“En garde!” Peyton lifts it up.

“You are done for Admiral Cochrane!” Hugh bellows as he aims for her side.

“You’ll never get the best of me, Mortemer!” she replies, channelling her inner performer.

Hugh is nimble and surprisingly adept for his age, whereas Peyton still struggles when sparring with Charlie, but this she can manage.

“Is that you, Peyton?” Grace pokes her head out.

“Nay, ’tis I, Fart Cochrane!” she swings the cane about arrogantly.

Hugh giggles, but he covers his mouth when Grace fixes them both with a stern look. Peyton rubs the back of her neck sheepishly.

“Sorry, Grace, I got carried away.”

They both get back into character, Grace stands in the shop's doorway watching over the match for a few minutes. She’s about to leave when she addresses Peyton, “I’ve got new wares, come in and have a look, will you?”

“Sure, I’ll just fini—” 

While distracted by Grace, Hugh seizes the opportunity to strike, hitting her square in the stomach.

“Hugh!” Grace shouts, running out of the shop to check on Peyton and guides her onto a chair inside, all while apologising profusely. Hugh stands in the corner, looking down at his feet, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. 

“It’s alright, Grace. It was foolish of me to fight such a skilled pirate.”

“You are too kind, I’ve been telling him to be more careful, does it hurt?”

“No harm done, or at least not the fatal kind.” Peyton rubs a soothing hand against the sore area. “You mentioned new wares?” 

“Ah, yes. I did, you are interested, I assume?”

“Aye, I’ve been looking forward to seeing what you’ve got this time.”

“I will be right back then.”

Hugh approaches Peyton with small, tentative steps. “Forgive me, I did not mean to hurt you.”

She gets up from the chair, and reaches out for his shoulder to comfort him, but he turns his face. Her heart aches when she realises what is happening, to show him she means no harm she runs a gentle finger along his cheek.

“I know, all forgiven.” 

Hugh opens his eyes again, and his lips move upwards before heading over to pick up a broom and leaves to go sweep the stoop. Peyton looks over a few items till Grace comes back, handing her an outfit.

“I hope it is to your liking.”

Peyton takes the clothes and walks behind a curtain to try it on. It’s a pair of trousers made in a sturdy material, they’re dirt brown making them ideal for future staining, a dark grey shirt that feels light and soft to the touch. Grace is talking in the background. “I made this with you in mind,” she says.

“That explains the perfect fit. Your attention to detail is superb.” Peyton runs her palm along the fabric, admiring how well fitted it is without restricting any movements. She steps out in the middle of the shop, showing it off. 

“Just how I imagined it.” Grace clasps her hands together in excitement. 

Peyton fumbles with the old garments, searching for her coin sack, and places a few on a nearby table. “Will this be enough?”

“‘Tis too much,” she protests.

“Keep the change then.” 

“I could not possibly—”

“You can, paying any less for this would be an insult.”

“Thank you.” Gratefully she inclines her head, and takes Peyton’s old clothes, folding them by a small table, she’s quick yet meticulous. “Here you go, hopefully we will be seeing you again?” 

“Of course, next time we’re in port, I’ll swing by.” 

“Again, thank you for being so overbearing when it comes to Hugh, not all of our customers are… he talks as much about you as Edward now.”

Peyton finds it sweet, although surprising, maybe giving him the time of day has been enough to make an impression. “I’m honoured, take care Grace.”

“You too, and please tell Charlie to come by, I have something for her.”

“Will do.”

Feeling comfortable in her new clothes, Peyton walks back out onto the street. she only gets a few meters away from the shop before she’s shoved aside and drops everything to the ground. Just about to fall, a pair of strong hands steadies her by the waist. 

“You alright?” asks a hurried man with a British accent.

“Yeah.” She tries to catch a glimpse of the mysterious stranger.

“Splendid.” He runs off again, now he’s a flurry of blond hair with a blue hat perched on top. “Stop that thief!” he shouts, but no one is trying to help.

Peyton springs into action and catches up with him shortly. “Move!” She pushes her way through the crowd, seeing a potential shortcut she jumps over a stall, knocking over a few things.

“Oi!”

“Sorry!”

The thief turns a corner making his way towards the town square; the stranger stops frantically looking around for any sign of him. “Can you see him?” he asks.

After a few seconds Peyton points to a young man who is gasping for air by the edge of the square, half obscured by a building. “Over there!” He is about to run, when she holds out a hand to stop him.

“Follow my lead, I will distract and you restrain him.”

As Peyton nears him, she notices the man’s long lush brown hair, his five o'clock shadow that compliments his sharp cheekbones well. She steadies her breath and approaches calmly, he’s too distracted by his own discordant breathing to notice her arrival.

“Hey there, I haven’t seen you around much,” Peyton purrs.

He quirks an eyebrow, looking her up and down. The thief stands up straighter, in an effort to look presentable. “I told the man you ran the other way.”

“Th-h-ank you,” he answers, still trying to catch his breath.

The stranger is sneaking up on both of them, giving Peyton a small nod to keep going.

“There’s a way you could return the favour, preferably the one that leaves you just as breathless.” She runs a finger across his chest, and he melts into her touch.

“I would love that,” he growls, stepping closer to her.

“So any idea where we could go, I have a feeling a man like you likes it rough.”

“What gave it away?”

Having got close enough, the stranger restrains him by taking his wrists behind his back. The sack of coins drops to the ground. 

“You ran before I got the chance to say hello.”

“Unhand me.” He thrashes in the stranger’s grip.

Peyton moves to the stranger with the intention of untying his neckerchief. “May I, sir?”

“Aye. Please call me Oliver.”

She binds the wrists of the thief together and picks up the scattered coins, placing them back into the embroidered purse, now handing it to Oliver.

“Thank you for your help, that was… effective.”

“My pleasure, it isn’t everyday you get to chase a thief.”

“It was rather exhilarating,” he replies with a breathless chuckle. “I don’t think I caught your name?”

“Because I didn’t tell you, it’s Peyton.”

“I would shake your hand, but mine are unfortunately occupied for the time being.”

A merchant reaches them. He looks to the purse in Oliver’s hand. “Thank ye fer retrieving me customers’ property.”

“You’re welcome. I could not have done it without Peyton.” He throws the purse to the merchant and shoots Peyton a cheeky wink. 

While Oliver is speaking with the merchant, the thief is slowly edging away, preparing to make a run for it, but Oliver catches him by his shirt without breaking eye contact.

“Just let him go.”

“That is your prerogative, sir.” Oliver lets go and unties him. 

“But know this, if I catch you ’round me stall again, I am calling upon the magistrate.” The merchant walks over to smack the thief on the back of his head. Now pardoned, he gives them all a sour look, rubbing his wrists. It does not take long before he scurries off.

Oliver holds out his tie looking it over for any damages, he straightens it out before retying it around his neck, and tries to resume a previous conversation.

“So abou—”

He immediately cuts him off. “I have no answers for ye.” 

“But—”

“I don’t know ye, leave me be.”

Peyton reacts to the merchant’s hostility and asks, “What’s the issue?” 

“This man has been asking for pirate activity in the area, and I’ve told him we’ve not seen pirates in these waters for years.”

He offers her a conspiratorial glance before addressing Oliver again, “And we would like to keep it that way, so if there’s anything else I can help ye with?”

The last shred of his patience is gone, now visibly agitated by the inquisitive stranger.

Oliver lifts his hands in mock surrender. “I do not know that I would tell you, since you have been most unhelpful so far.”

“‘Tis hardly me job to help ye.”

“You got me there.” He is completely unfazed by his anger. “Perhaps you could point me toward the nearest tavern? I am dying for a pint.”

“Only a fool drinks beer instead of rum,” the merchant mumbles under his breath and takes his leave.

Oliver turns to Peyton with an amused grin. “Well, it seems you are my only hope in this matter.”

Peyton finally gets a good look at him, he appears to be new around here. Although this is only her second time in Tiburón, they might have missed each other the last time Poseidon’s Revenge made port. He’s full of himself, but somewhat harmless.

“You’re in luck, I’m headed there myself.”

“I am your eternal servant.” His shoulders sag with relief, succeeded by a slight bow. 

Peyton indicates for him to follow. “You’re that easily bought, with the promise of ale?”

“I am a simple man, should you be in need of a favour of mine, I would be most amenable to help.”

“That’s very kind of you, but I doubt it to be necessary, sir.”

“Oliver.”

“I doubt it to be necessary _Oliver_ , but I thank you nonetheless.”

They take a turn, returning to the part of the market they came from. Peyton finds it odd that Oliver struggles to keep up the leisurely pace, his gait comes across a little stiff.

“What are you here for anyway, apart from catching thieves and bothering the local merchants?”

“I was not both—”

“I do not think he’d agree with you there,” Peyton interjects amused by his offense.

He lets out a small sigh. “Truth be, I am but a lowly pirate in search of a crew.”

Peyton is a little concerned by his approach. “And you’re just asking around? I doubt you’ll have any luck that way.” 

“I’ve noticed, I was hoping to prove myself worthy to join a ship. I’ve heard many a crew port here, but so far no opportunity has presented itself.”

“Sure, you might be safer than in other ports, but I’d still suggest lying low. It’d be a shame to see you hanged before you got back out on sea.”

“You are right, but I do not feel threatened by you knowing my secret.” 

His tone is flirty, but Peyton pays him no mind. “Nor should you, I don’t care how you get your coin, not everyone has the luxury of choosing a safe profession on shore.”

“Are you speaking from experience?” he asks.

“Something like that.” She shuts it down again, not really interested in telling him more than he needs to know.

Oliver is side eyeing Peyton, she then tries to catch him in the act, thinking he’d pretend that he wasn’t ogling, but he’s unabashed and his lips tugs at the corners.

They pass the stall Peyton cut through during their pursuit. She excuses herself for a moment to check if something broke. There was only some bruised fruit, but Peyton still pays her for the inconvenience, before rushing back to Oliver.

When two of them reach the tavern, Peyton holds out the door and gestures for him to enter, following close behind. It is packed tonight, by the looks of it most are already past their first rounds.

“Peyton, what’ll it be?” Tillie yells out from behind the bar, her voice is loud, easily carrying over the rowdy clientele.

She leaves Oliver to himself and moves closer to order a drink. “Evening gorgeous, a tankard of ale to start with.” 

Oliver emerges from behind clearing his throat, it is _almost_ drowned out by the drunken cacophony. “And another one for my friend here,” Peyton adds.

As Tillie leaves, he sidles up next to Peyton. “Friend?”

What else she could’ve called him is unclear, given they’ve just met. “It seemed like the easier explanation.”

Oliver places a hand on the small of Peyton’s back and leans in closer to make sure it’s impossible to overhear. His tone is utterly shameless, “Tell me, what am I to you, truly?” His sultry voice is like a physical caress.

She finds it hard not to tease him back. “A mysterious stranger, but keep that up I might have a different answer by the end of the night.”

“I will be looking forward to hearing your verdict.” He moves over to a stool by the bar, and flashes what Peyton suspects to be his most disarming smile. He looks to the empty seat next to him then back to her.

Gingerly he sets his hat on the table, and when she sits down, he lets their knees brush together. “So how did you get here?” Oliver asks.

She hoped the incessant questioning would stop once they got inside, but he’s still insistent. It’s probably for the best to keep him in the dark until it is known if he can be trusted. Edward would have Peyton hanging from the yardarm by morning if she let any sensitive information slip or compromise the safety of the crew.

“By ship,” she retorts, hoping it will suffice for now.

Oliver presses on. “I deduced as much, given this is an island, I am more interested in what crew, as I happen to be looking for one, remember?” 

A white lie might be the solution to get out of fending him off for an entire evening. While Poseidon’s Revenge could do with another seasoned sailor, she doubts this brief encounter will be enough to convince Edward.

“I am the daughter of a merchant, my father sails Celerity.”

“Celerity, never heard of her.”

“We are new money, it’s a new ship.”

“Very well then, I will have to continue my search elsewhere.”

Tillie brings the both of them two tankards filled to the brim with ale. Oliver wastes no time and drinks right away, only when it’s drained halfway, he sets it back on the table with a small thump, redirecting his full attention back to Peyton.

“Looks like you enjoyed it.” 

“A trait I inherited from my father, I believe.”

“Is your father a pirate as well?”

“One could argue I am in the family business, aye… it is in my blood.”

“Was it always your intention to do so?”

“I must admit it was not my first choice.” His face betrays nothing, but his voice suggests some sadness veiled beneath it.

“What was your first choice?” 

He lets the question hang in the air, and a boyish gleam appears in his eyes. “Stable-hand, I’ve always been fond of horses.”

“Why didn’t you become one?” 

“My father would have none of that.” His nostalgic demeanour vanishes little by little. 

She senses it’s a sensitive topic, and against her better judgement gets the urge to ask, “How come you’re not sailing with your father?” 

“We’ve not sailed together for years, I found my own crew and never looked back.” He’s not keen on elaborating any further.

“I will rephrase my wording a little, why are you without a crew?”

He grimaces as he lifts his arm to reveal his bloodstained shirt. “Our last raid did not go as planned, I got off easy. Not everyone was that lucky.” He puts his arm back down, when the pain subsides he continues, “Most of us tried to warn our captain, but he was a persistent old tosspot. It cost himself and seven other men their lives.”

He takes a break from speaking, running his finger along the edge of his tankard. Peyton sits quietly nursing her own drink, waiting for Oliver to go on.

“I already had my doubts under Duncan’s leadership of late, but the man who took over was someone I knew could not be entrusted with the task of leading us with our safety in mind, so I left.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. It must’ve been hard leaving the others behind.”

He nods solemnly, returning the tankard to his lips, throat bobbing as he knocks back the rest of his drink. He stays silent for a long time. Peyton is unsure how to keep the conversation going and lets him grieve in peace.

“You’ve been quiet for a while, ’twasn’t my intention to bring you down with me.” He bumps his knee into Peyton’s. 

“It’s okay, everyone needs to vent, and I’d wager another beer that you’re not the first man in here pouring his heart out to a stranger.”

He manages a half smile. “Still, let us talk about something else, I do hate the idea of wasting good company. Do you port here often?”

“Occasionally,” she replies, still careful not to reveal too much.

“So you know your way around the island?”

“I’ve been here enough to find my way.”

“If you are not leaving right away, mayhap you could show me around?” 

Peyton sympathises with Oliver, not long ago she was lost. If he had to leave their crew so suddenly things must’ve been bad with their new captain.

Edward can be broody at times, but there is never any doubt all he wants is to keep everyone safe, in any way he can. She may not be able to offer Oliver to become part of the crew, but she can still help him get around.

“Of course, we can’t have any lost pirates roaming the markets.”

“I cannot express how thankful I am.”

“You can always try.” She winks at him.

“I have a few suggestions, that is if a lady like you would have it?” He trails his finger against her hand painstakingly slow.

His touch makes it much harder to turn him down. He’s definitely attractive, long golden locks tied into a careless bun at the nape of his neck, and compelling hazel eyes that makes Peyton’s breath catch. His looks combined with these impish tricks might’ve worked for him in the past, but since he could be a potential recruit, it would be best to keep him at an arm’s length.

Peyton’s hesitant reaction is enough for him to lay off. With a soft chuckle he returns his hand to fidget with the tankard. “My apologies, I thought that was where our conversation was headed.” 

“It’s alright, I just can’t.”

“I will find a more honourable way of repaying your kindness.”

“Thanks.” She tries to recover the conversation, careful not to spur him on again. “So where are you from?”

“From London, perhaps my accent is not as obvious as I thought it was.” He’s still cocky, evidently he didn’t take the rejection too hard. He looks into his tankard swirling around the few drops of ale left behind. “Since we are taking turns questioning each other.” 

“Who says we are?”

“Polite society.” 

Peyton takes a look at the raucous tavern, filled with drunk pirates and local patrons. Across the room are two sailors from another ship yelling at each other, while the rest of the crew is cheering them on just for the hell of it.

A tankard comes flying through the air aimed towards the tallest man. It was thrown by a gruff looking pirate seated at another table. This in turn opens up a new argument between him and the other two.

“I don’t think we’re in a polite society, Oliver.” 

“Indulge me then?”

“Sure.”

It has become harder to hear over the course of the last minute, she leans close enough to smell the spiced scent coming off of him, he smirks, but to her relief he stays civil.

“Are we not enemies?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Sailing on a merchant vessel, you must have had your fair share of encounters with pirates?”

Peyton has been so focused on keeping her libido in check that she had already forgotten about her cover, but thanks to Oliver’s reminder she bounces back.

“Nothing that couldn’t be handled with a sword.” 

“I will have to steer clear of the Celerity.”

“A wise decision on your part.”

Oliver is looking at someone behind Peyton, when she turns around Jonas is there, despite his nonchalance she knows him well enough to know something is off.

“May I borrow you for a moment?” Jonas asks.

Peyton abandons the rest of her drink and places the payment beside Oliver. “You think you can manage yourself from here on?”

“Most certainly, thanks to you no less.”

“Great, ‘cause I have some work to attend to.” Peyton nudges her head towards Jonas.

Oliver gives an understanding nod and lifts his tankard just above a hover. “Thanks for the ale, hopefully we will meet again soon.”

“Are you afraid you will have to pay for it yourself?” 

“That too.”

For a moment she is mesmerised by his gaze, the spell is broken by Jonas laying a gentle hand on her shoulder to remind her of the matters at hand.

When they get outside, fresh air enters Peyton’s lungs. It didn’t feel like much time had passed, but the sky is tinged with the orange afterglow coming from the setting sun. “So… are you going to tell me what is happening?”

“Edward asked me to fetch you.” 

“Did I do something wrong?”

“To my knowledge, not this time.” He cracks a tiny smile.

“Then what’s wrong?”

“‘Tis better if he tells you himself.”

Jonas isn’t the most talkative person, but Peyton catches on. “You don’t know either, do you?”

“Nay.” He shakes his head. “He is waiting for all of us on ship.”

They walk the rest of the distance in silence, she has an unsettling feeling that whatever Edward has to say it won’t be good news.


	2. Captain Mortemer

There is a gust of wind on board Poseidon’s Revenge. The tender waves beneath her soothes Edward’s fraught nerves. Just a few hours ago everything appeared as it should; a quick stop for repairs, restocking and a chance for his crew to rest. What he had hoped to be a brief respite was indeed short-lived.

Next to him, Charlie appraises the wares from their latest plunder. There were a few unexpected damages to some items, but he has seen her tame even the toughest merchant’s times over. He knows she will find a way to cover both the cost of the operation and pay everyone what they are entitled to.

“Charlie?” Edward beckons her over and moves to the railing.

She packs away her ledger into a pocket, joining him. “What did you have in mind?”

“Whatever happens next, I need you to promise me you are ready to take over and lead them to safety.”

“We’ve already talked about this, why the sudden urge for confirmation?”

“Given the recent turn of events, I wanted to make sure. There is no reason for everyone else to get caught.” He hands Charlie a piece of paper. “Twas mentioned that this hunter’s success rate is high. They wrote he was the one who captured Harold McCreery.”

“That is no testament to his skills, Old McCreery got reckless,” she says, skimming through the letter.

“Still a highly skilled fighter, with one of the strongest crews. What we have… what Robert left us with will not be enough for long. We are staying a few more days than initially planned, it is the preferred option than searching for recruits elsewhere.”

“I will have my scouts out by morning, it should not take them long to discover some hidden talent.”

Greetings in the background from a rambunctious voice reveals Peyton has boarded with Jonas in tow.

“I trust you to do well.” He places a hand on her shoulder, giving it a amicable squeeze before moving to the helm.

“Gather 'round!”

Slowly everyone wraps up their conversations and assembles in front of him.

"We have reason to believe that the hunter is bound for Tiburón. A crew member on board Zenobia recovered another letter. Alexander Moore, their captain, came to me personally and warned me about an hour ago.

"In this it is mentioned to be a platoon led by a Lieutenant. They are sweeping the smaller islands for pirate activity and they’ve not been here as of yet.”

"Are we leaving already?" Ginny chimes in, her tiny frame is half obscured by Jonas whom she is hiding behind.

Edward softens up a little, hoping to put her more at ease. "Nay, not just yet."

He addresses the newer members on board, "We trade off all the things we do not require for ourselves, exchanging it for provisions or coins if possible. Charlie and I will introduce you to our buyers. Do not approach anyone new without consulting us.

“I would advise you to stay on Poseidon at night instead of the inns. We should all be prepared for a cut and run. If anything happens to me, Charlie will be officially in charge and you will heed her commands as you would mine. These precautions are with everyone's safety in mind.

“Is everything clear?”

Agreement surges through the crew.

"Dismissed, you may now return to your evening."

Edward retreats to his cabin with burdensome steps. Inside he walks to his desk, placing his jacket on the back of a chair, carefully positioning it to avoid creasing. In a drawer he finds his journal, it has barely touched the surface when there is a gentle knock on the door.

“Edward?”

He is about to answer when it opens and Peyton peeks through the crack. A relenting sigh escapes him and she crosses the threshold.

“How did you come across this other captain?”

“He did me the courtesy of handing me the letter. After that he wound up telling me he had spoken to the mayor about their concerns.” Edward paces around to relieve the restlessness trapped inside of him.

“A pirate warning his competition, that’s not normal is it?” she asks.

"It was not out of kindness, I can assure you, he told us to leave. If the navy came looking for us, it would prove trouble for every other crew seeking harbour in Tiburón."

“You don't think the mayor will go back on your deal, do you?”

Having Moore approach him means the dynamic has shifted already, it had always been clear that Edward allowed _th_ _em_ to stay, not the other way around. Despite his best efforts to treat the loss of Robert and his followers as manageable it was far from the truth. With a few more he has no doubt that his protection will be sufficient, although now that there are tougher-looking options vying for the island’s attention, he just has to convince them of the same.

"I fear we do not carry the same reputation we used to, why else would he have entertained the thought of a partnership with Moore? We were fortunate this time, but if more sense our current weakness they will all want to claim the island for themselves."

He plants himself on the edge of his bed, actively avoiding her pitying gaze. A mournful silence fills the room, she starts drifting around the cabin and her eyes fall to his assortment of books again.

"What order do you want to read them in?" Peyton trails a finger across a leather-bound book. When there is no answer, she takes it off the shelf, brushing off the dust.

"How about this one? You need to do something for yourself while we’re here, I’m sure Charlie wouldn’t mind managing us while you read."

When he does not reach for it, she places it by his side on the bed.

"Despite what you think, it's okay to enjoy yourself."

He is about to protest, but she interrupts him.

"Even you, Edward."

Despite the habit of imposing on him at his lowest, he values the compassion offered to him whenever he is unable to show any for himself.

“I was thinking about turning in for the night,” she yawns. “Please be kind to our Captain, he's doing the best he can.”

"Sleep well Miss Bellamy." He presses his lips together in an attempt to smile.

The door creaks as she leaves the cabin, he glances at the book and exhales through his nose. He did not have the heart to tell her that she picked out the only piece of erotic literature in his entire collection.

He gets up to place it on the shelf. It looks slightly out-of-place being free from dust. He lights a lantern that hangs by a neglected reading nook he had set up with the intention of it being used. Now it just serves as a reminder of the constant shame that he hopes to leave behind and the things he might one day allow himself again.

He wipes down the books with a threadbare shirt he found lying on the forgotten armchair and puts them back in the same order they were.

He is about to blow out the candle when the dimly lit corner lure him to sit down and have a rest, Peyton’s words keep echoing inside his head.

_(Even you, Edward)_


	3. Apples and Oranges

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've finally updated the work title as intended. The dollar store vibe is purely intentional.
> 
> \- Sincerely Blythe.

Down at the mess deck, Henry doles out breakfast for those brave enough to tackle his oatmeal. Beside him is a pot filled with a thick substance that could easily be eaten with a knife and a fork should Peyton want to… although _want_ might not be the right word.

Charlie is pouring over a notebook. Her mouth moves silently as she traces the writing with her finger at a steady pace. Peyton takes a seat opposite of her and digs in.

Edward comes down and grabs a bowl. He greets Peyton with a cautious smile that reaches his eyes for once and sits next to Charlie. “Has anyone been in contact with possible recruits?” he asks.

"Not yet, Agwé sent word to the rest, so we should have a few prospects by evening," Charlie replies, still glued to her work.

"What about the lad you were seeing last night?" Jonas asks Peyton from the adjoining table.

“He told me he’s a pirate without a crew, during a plunder the Captain and a few others died. He didn't trust the man who took over, so he left.”

"Does he have any potential?" Edward asks, with a surprisingly hopeful tone.

“All I've seen is that he's in good shape,” Peyton replies.

Edward raises his eyebrows and Charlie grins. Peyton’s eyes widen at the suggestive glances. “Not like that. I only know that he can run fast,” she adds.

"Keep an eye on him, we need all the support we can get," says Edward.

Ginny plumps down by Peyton’s side with a bright, contagious smile on her face. “Would you like to join me and Jonas today?”

Peyton looks at Edward for confirmation, and he nods.

"Sure, what are you doing?"

“He promised me that we would swing by the bladesmith to get this sharpened,” she pulls out a tiny ornate knife from her belt, proudly displaying it.

“Before you leave… I’ve assigned you to distribute wares with Charlie later, come find her when you are done.”

“Will do Cap’n.” Peyton winks, earning herself a small twitch by the corner of his mouth.

* * * 

At the waterfront market, Ginny skips from stall to stall. Jonas lets her explore the colorful objects, and he finds Peyton and himself a seat to observe her from. She approaches a young boy who’s feeding birds on a pier under his governess' watchful eye. Peyton recognizes the child as the mayor’s son.

“That’s Moore,” says Jonas.

The mayor talks to a pirate. He's likely in his early forties, full head of jet black hair and intense green eyes that stand out in the crowd. They're surrounded by three rough types, acting like he already owns the place.

"How long have you been manning the guns?" she asks, trying to strike up a conversation.

"I've been here for a while, but I cannot remember an exact number. Edward encouraged me to take this path, and I ended up working under our previous gunner Isaac, who retired a few years ago when he got married.”

“What did you do before?” 

The tensing muscles in his jaw didn’t go unnoticed.

“How about a trade? You tell me something, I tell you something,” she bargains.

He mulls it over before answering, “It better be worth it… I was impressed into the navy.”

“What?”

“I refused but wound up serving His Majesty anyway. Edward helped me get out and offered me a home on Poseidon. They rarely allowed us to disembark and traded me to passing ships alongside a few other troublemakers just before the ship headed for port. 

“He had targeted one I was on and gave me and a few others our freedom. I am grateful for Edward’s help and I respect him as my Captain, although back then I never thought it possible to serve anyone but myself…” he trails off as his eyes fall to Ginny who is deep in conversation with a vendor, haggling over the price of a shiny object that caught her attention. His loving gaze returns, slowly washing away some of the pain from his past.

"Why did you take her with you?"

“We had no luck finding anyone able to care for an orphan amidst their own tragedies. We could not leave her there to fend for herself… I suppose that grants me two questions, how did you end up on the Admiral's ship?”

Her hand rests on the bump formed by the compass tucked inside the lining of her pocket, desperately awaiting that pull to arrive again. "Would you believe me if I told you I'm not sure myself?" 

Her earnest expression leaves Jonas with a sorrowful one in return, like it opened up a memory of his own. "The mind can sometimes forget things, perhaps you are fortunate yours did,” he replies.

“Maybe. Do you still wish to ask me that second one?”

“Nay, but you can buy me a few rounds instead.”

"And if I ever find out, I owe you the tale.”

They both settle into an awkward silence. Peyton idly watches a man knock in a few nails to support the structure of his stall. It gives in, spilling a crate of oranges. She gets up to pick the stray ones following the trail to the fruit monger and unloads them into a crate, before squatting down to gather more.

“Allow me.” A man bends down, placing an empty wicker basket between the two of them. Peyton glances to her side where Oliver carefully arranges the oranges into it. His long untied wavy hair flows loosely around his shoulders, adding to his carefree demeanor. Still annoyingly handsome in the light of day.

“I see you found a job,” Peyton teases.

“No more than you,” he responds, his lips twist into a smirk.

They fill it up to the brim and Oliver hoists it up, carrying it over to the man who’s scratching the back of his head.

“Need any help with that, sir?” Oliver asks him.

“Aye, thank ye.” He instructs them to hold it steady while he reassembles it, testing it with a final push before deeming it functional. “Help yourself,” he gestures to a selection of apples.

Having eyed the same deep red one with a polished sheen, their hands collide. Peyton quickly retreats hers, and Oliver takes it… only to give it to her, finding another one for himself. 

She wipes it off on her shirt and takes a bite, an extremely tangy flavor spreads on her tongue, making her pucker up, “I fink thees are fur cookin'’”

He stifles a snort and puts his inside the satchel draped across his shoulder.

“Peyton!” Ginny shouts from the other side of the market, waving her arms about trying to capture her attention.

“Would you be interested in the tour today? We are making our way to the bladesmith…” she points to Ginny, who is deeply enamoured by a black horse tethered outside the apothecary, “with the occasional distraction of course.”

“Excellent idea, I left everything behind but this,” he opens his vest to reveal a lone dagger hanging inside a leather sheath wrapped around his chest. “I would feel better with a sword.”

“Come, I’ll introduce you to the others.”

They make their way through the crowd and in a soft-spoken voice he greets the horse, holding out a hand for it to sniff. “Now is the time if you want to rid yourself of it,” he gestures to the abandoned apple in Peyton’s hand. “Would it be alright to give him an apple?” he asks the man tending it.

He agrees, stepping away for a minute to do something else. Oliver quarters it with the dagger, handing two of them to Ginny. She nervously accepts them and he holds out his own pieces, instructing her to do it. It’s adorable to see him to interact with both Ginny and the horse, he is obviously not immune to her winsome charm. She giggles like a maniac as it gobbles it up and proceeds to ungraciously wipe her palm off on her pant leg to Jonas’ dismay.

"I fear we cannot peruse any longer, we need to get going lass,” says Jonas, as he’s getting off the residual apple residing on her pants.

“Oliver has agreed to join us today.”

"Is he the one you mentioned?" Ginny asks, Jonas shoots her a look to remind her not to tell too much.

Peyton tries to figure out how to explain this without making it sound like more than a simple interest in him as a crewmate for a ship he’s not even supposed to know about.

"Well, am I?" A mellowed yet coquettish smile dances on his lips, watching gleefully as she stammers through an answer.

“He is, but we should get moving.” Peyton ushers her away before she can say more.

Oliver falls into step with her getting close enough to let their hands _accidentally_ brush, it sends a tingling sensation surging through her stomach.

“You have spoken about me in my absence?”

“I only mentioned you in passing.” She moves out of the path as a girl carrying a heavy basket makes her way through the street, creating a safe distance between them again.


	4. Modern Medicine

A winded young boy runs around performing various tasks for the Bladesmith. He’s putting in all his weight into blowing the bellows standing on a tiny wobbly stool. The air is humid, and the open fire sends out distorted swirls of heat, obscuring the view of half the shop. The Bladesmith swiftly dunks the sword he was working on into a trough of water, hissing and spitting he leaves it to itself and addresses them, “What can we help ye with?”

Jonas nudges Ginny forward, and she presents him with her knife. Peyton hands over Robert’s sword as well. Despite the temptation of letting his prized possession dull over time, the prospect of one day fighting him with it sounds much more gratifying in the long run. Also, it may be time to stop referring to it as Robert’s.

Oliver disbands from the rest to inquire about rapier swords and the Bladesmith points him in the direction of a wall displaying custom swords ready for purchase. “That one was for a customer who never showed. We do not know what happened to him,” he says. “I’ll give you a price cut if you’ll take it off me hands.”

Oliver reaches for it but halfway he clutches his side. A speck of blood has made its way through his vest. Peyton moves it aside to assess the damage; right under his rib cage is a pool of red soaking his shirt. He needs to lose it for a better view. “You’re bleeding,” she says.

“A fine observation, although you needn’t worry.” He takes down the sword, inspecting it in the murky light coming from the soot streaked window. His labored breathing reveals that he is in pain. Maybe he’s too proud to accept help or unaware of the dangers of leaving it unchecked for too long.

She takes it away from him and hangs it on a display within her reach. “Yeah, you’re coming with me.”

* * *

Mr. Belford — the discreetest surgeon available on the island — lives nearby. Charlie brought Peyton the last time they were here. He’s an elderly man, that gives off grandpa vibes, not a harmful bone in his body… depending on the surgery. In his own house, he has set up a little clinic-like facility, remote, should anyone need a safe place to recover, or seek help with unsavoury ailments, no matter what they may be. He’s remodeled the room a little since, but it still has that distinct library smell coming from the plethora of books mixed with the aromatic herbs he uses for his concoctions, mint being the most prominent of them all today.

“It smells lovely in here. Are you making something interesting?” she asks.

“Just tea, I’m afraid, ”Mr. Belford answers, “Who’s the lad?”

“Oliver, he’s injured, but I can take care of him myself if that is alright?”

Mr. Belford nods, settling back into his chair, he directs the tip of his pipe toward a shelf with cloth. “Dried and boiled per your suggestion, there might still be a smidge of the salt left you used on Charlie.”

“Have you tried it out?”

“Aye, Mrs. Hernandéz’ boy came in with a nasty cut on his arm, it healed incredibly well. If you are staying here for a while, would you mind looking after the place? Elinor has an influx of herbs, courtesy of Moore’s crew, and she urged me to come have a look.”

“Has Moore been more generous of late?” Oliver asks, interrupting their conversation.

“He has, but what is it to you?” she replies, eyeing him warily.

“I am hoping to meet up with him soon enough. Perhaps his generosity will extend to his willingness to take on a new hand.”

Edward’s distrust was obvious yesterday, while he didn’t speak of it, somewhere, muddled between his despair there was some familiarity about the way he spoke of him. “Trust me, from what you told yesterday you would be trading in one dubious character for another. He’s supposedly courting the island, and I doubt it will last long,” she says.

“If you wish to seize your opportunity, you must act quickly,” Mr. Belford adds, “although, I highly discourage you from doing so… Is there anything you need before I leave?”

“Water, so I can ster—” Peyton quickly corrects herself, “clean the tools.”

By the fireplace lies a pile of wood ready, but a quick feel reveals they’re all damp. She tries to coax the embers to take hold, sending a thick swirl of smoke out in the room. She throws open the window to let in some fresh air.

“I probably should have warned you about the wood,” Mr. Belford says apologetically. He places a pot of water over the struggling flames, “Are you good to take over?” She lets out a hoarse agreement and sips on a glass of ale that Mrs. Belford brought for her. “Splendid, we will be back soon.”

Oliver has been eerily quiet, he’s shuffling about with his hands folded neatly behind his back, peering curiously at the jars. “Do you know what all these do?” he asks.

“No and I am not allowed to touch them.”

“How reassuring. Are you an apprentice of sorts?”

No, just unfortunate enough to have dated an asshole through his first two years of med school. One uneventful afternoon, while waiting for a call from a casting director, she cleaned their apartment and found Wesley’s suturing kit, with cleaning being the alternative, it won out. It came in handy, especially since Charlie’s closed wound prompted Edward to upgrade Peyton to a temporary surgeon, splitting Samuel’s duties between her and Henry, beside taking over Kendrick’s navigation.

“No,” she answers flatly, joining him by the case displaying the tools. Oliver shudders as his eyes fall onto a particularly horrifying device, a saw with very fine teeth, small patches of rust embedded between each of them. His head makes a violent jerk when she aims for it. Chuckling, she deviates to the left to take a tong instead. “What would I even be using it for?”

“I’ve no idea, I just know to expect the unexpected in the company of a surgeon.”

“Not a surgeon either…”

“Then what are you?” Oliver sounds increasingly desperate after each avoided question. She shrugs in response and orders him to sit on the table.

“Take off your shirt, please.” The wound is a clean cut gash, shallow compared to what she had imagined from the amount of blood. It’s a little irritated and swollen around the remaining stitches. “When did it open?”

“Yesterday,” Oliver answers. “I noticed the bleeding when we walked towards the tavern.”

Having set some of the boiling water aside for a saline solution, she submerges the tools. Hands rinsed and everything assembled on a clean cloth beside him, she pulls a chair over and removes the dried blood. Oliver lifts his arm, hooking his hand behind his neck. In this position every move triggers his taut muscles. Luckily this was all hidden at the tavern, or the night would have gone differently.

At this point a stranger’s touch might be as good as any. Oliver’s inviting nature is welcoming opposed to Edward’s stand offish one. While they shared moments where their chemistry became unbearable, she prides herself on having some dignity. And chasing after a man that constantly has to weigh his past against every decision he makes was better to let go.

Oliver — who has caught her staring at his abs for God knows how long — clears his throat and raises an eyebrow. Mortified, she apologizes and the room goes silent. It’s only broken by the occasional crack from the wood in the fireplace.

Mr. Belford enters the room with his arms full of peculiar objects, setting them on a table and restocks the shelves. “How are you faring?”

“I just need to wrap him up.”

“She has exceeded every expectation,” says Oliver.

“Then you set them too low,” she retorts, fastening cloth with two strips of fabric. “There you go, you can put your shirt back on. I’d advise you to come back and have it redressed preferably once a day. And avoid direct contact with sea water as much as possible.”

He eases himself of the table. “I will do just that. Perhaps a few drinks would suffice as payment?”

It could be a convenient excuse to find out if he’s crew material, if not it could serve as a recreational distraction. They agree to meet up at the tavern tomorrow. Oliver tells that he has some errands to run, gives his thanks and dashes out of the door.

Mr. Belford pours freshly brewed tea for her and pulls out a chair. “He is new, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, Edward wanted me to see if he’s worth anything. Mending him might earn me some trust.”

“How is he?” Mrs. Belford asks, coming in carrying a plate of biscuits placing them in front of them.

“He’s… I’m not sure really, “ she answers. “What do you think of Moore?”

They share unsure glances before Mr. Belford continues, “I mean no disrespect when I say I can see how he might provide a stronger ally, but his measures seem far too extreme for my taste. I’ve seen Edward face worse, and want to see him prevail. As do most of my patients.”

“Have you known him for long?”

“Many years, I was a navy surgeon when we met; he was still working f—”

“Peyton?” a voice rings out in their living room, undoubtedly Charlie’s. She pokes her head through the doorway. “My apologies for disrupting tea, but we need to get back to work.”


End file.
